Sick
by seriouscaseofthegayface
Summary: When Daisy falls victim to the "mother of all colds" it is Sweets's job to make her feel better. Will he rise to the challenge?


**A/N: Remember me? I used to write all those Swaisy fanfics and squee about their cuteness? Yeah, that's me. Well hey, guess what? I'M BACK! :D Hehe, hope you enjoy this sickly cute story that came into my head today...**

**Sweets POV**

"_ACHOO_!"

I wince slightly at the loud sneeze, which is directly followed by the sounds of a scuffle for tissues, a loud blowing of the nose, and a pathetic whimper. That's my cue. I carefully balance the tray on one hand and push open the bedroom door with the other.

"Lancelot?" a voice croaks, barely louder than a whisper.

"Hey there." I reply softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful." Daisy whines. I can't deny that she _looks_ awful - hair limp and lifeless, nose bright red, eyes watering.

Daisy Wick has a cold. And not just any cold, the mother of all colds. She has claimed several times over the past few days that she is dying. At first, I just thought she was being melodramatic as usual... but now I'm beginning to seriously consider it.

"Well, I've brought you some breakfast - rye toast, and orange juice, you know, for vitamin C. And the September issue of the American Anthropological Journal, because I know how much you love looking at that picture of you and Dr Brennan. Can I get you anything else?" I set the tray down and sit very gingerly at the edge of the bed.

"You're perfect." she wheezes, puckering her lips for a kiss.

I shake my head. "Nuh uh, way too risky. One of us has to earn money to pay the rent."

Daisy lets out a little frustrated groan. "Ugh! I hate being sick! I have to stay in this stupid bed all day, have to eat stupid rye toast, have to read back issues of the stupid Journal I've _already_ read, and now I can't even kiss my stupid boyfriend?" she hurls the box of tissues she's been clutching to the floor, watching grimly as it ricochets off the wall and tumbles to a halt next to the bedpost. She looks at me timidly. "I... didn't mean that _you_ were stupid. You're the smartest person I know! Well, except for Dr Brennan."

Coming from Daisy, this is praise of the highest order. I take her hand and squeeze it affectionately, attempting to ignore how cold and clammy it is. "Thank you, Daisy. That means a lot."

Daisy manages a small smile, and smoothes a patch of duvet for me to sit on. "Okay, now to move on to today's Lance and Daisy get-to-know-you-better session. The topic is childhood pets. So, my first dog was -" And she is off into full babble-mode. I put up a hand, bringing her to a halt.

"This sounds great, Daisy, but should you even be talking? It's not going to be good for your voice." I say gently.

Daisy's bottom lip trembles. "But... talking is all I have! It's what I do best! How can I _not_ talk?" she demands, her voice cracking under the strain. "I can't just bottle all my words up, I'll explode!"

"Well, um... maybe you could write your words down?" I suggest. "You could start a blog!"

Daisy gives me a withering look.

"Or... or not." I rub the back of my neck, abashed. Now it's awkward. "Uh... so, I guess I'll call the Jeffersonian and tell them you're not showing up for work today?"

"Wait, what?" Daisy bolts upright. "It's _Monday_?"

I nod cautiously, bracing myself for her outburst.

"I've got to go! I can't let Dr Brennan down!" Daisy attempts to disentangle herself from the sea of blankets she has wrapped around her. "Why didn't you tell me? I'm already fifteen minutes late! Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

"Daisy," I put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you know how many people work at the Jeffersonian? You can't go to work like this and infect them all! Especially not with the whole Swine Flu thing going around."

"But what if Dr Brennan dumps me as her intern?" Daisy protests feebly.

I shake my head. "Would I let her do that to you?"

"I guess not." Daisy admits, playing with my fingers absently.

I smile fondly. "Correct." I press the number '4' button on my speed dial - Daisy, Work, and Agent Booth holding the top three spots - and hold my phone to my ear.

"Brennan." she answers on the second ring.

I clear my throat. "Dr Brennan? It's Dr Sweets here."

"Oh." I hear an aggravated shuffling of papers on the other end. "Is this because Booth told you about me walking in on him in the shower yesterday? Because it was my apartment, and he hadn't informed me that he'd be there. So really, it wasn't an issue of -"

"Um, Dr Brennan! I'm not actually calling about... uh... _that_. But that's definitely something we can discuss in therapy next week." I say, wide eyed. "I'm calling about Daisy, she's sick."

"Is Miss Wick okay?" Brennan asks, and I'm touched by the actual mild concern in her voice.

"She's got a pretty severe cold." I smile at Daisy, who responds with a meek cough. "Sneezing, coughing, burning fever, and her voice is basically gone. I thought it would be best if she remained at home for a couple of days."

"Of course." Brennan continues with her paper shuffling. "Tell Miss Wick I wish her a speedy recovery, and I hope to see her at work again soon."

"What's up with Daisy? Did she fall off of a building?" the slightly muffled voice of Hodgins in the background. I frown at his enthusiasm.

"No," Brennan says distractedly. "Miss Wick is sick, she's lost her voice."

I grit my teeth as I hear Hodgins laugh raucously, letting out a cry of joy reminiscent of Fred Flinstone. "Oh, the irony! This is brilliant! Ange, Ange!" he calls, causing Brennan to reprimand him about noise levels.

"Sorry Dr B, this is just too good. Hey, Angela!" I seriously contemplate hanging up.

"Jack, what are you trying to do, scream down the Jeffersonian?"

"Ha ha. Get this - Daisy Wick has lost her voice!"

Angela joins in the laughter now. "Seriously? She can't speak?"

"I guess all that talking finally caught up to her!"

I can practically see the confusion on Brennan's face. "I don't understand. What is so amusing about Miss Wick's illness?"

"Oh, sweetie," Angela laughs sympathetically. "It's funny because -"

"Um, okay! I'm gonna go now, Dr Brennan!" I say loudly, attempting to drown out the artist's words. "I'll see you in couples therapy on Thursday!"

"What?" Brennan is getting more and more perplexed by the second. "Oh. Very well. Goodbye, Dr Sweets."

I quickly press the 'end call' button, pinching the bridge of my nose in order to calm down. Daisy is looking at me expectantly.

"Is everything okay, Lancelot?" she makes a stab at nonchalance, but I can see in her eyes that she's apprehensive about what the anthropologist might have said.

"Of course it is, Dr Brennan said that she hopes you feel better soon, and that she'll see you at work." I laugh at the comical expression of joy on Daisy's face, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "All you need to do now is focus on getting better."

Daisy, placated, nods obediently. "Okay." I get up to leave. "Wait, Lance?" I turn back to her, expecting a plea for cold medicine or a candy bar, or something. "How come you're not at work? You have appointments today!" she frowns at me.

"Well... I took the day off work to take care of you. I... didn't have much to do today, anyway." That is a downright lie, and I'm thankful that Daisy's brain is too muddled by her cold to pick up on it.

"That is _so_ sweet!" Daisy looks thoughtful for a moment, before smiling mischievously and pushing back the blankets, pulling her top off over her head. "Come here, baby." she holds out her arms.

"Daisy, no. The germs -"

"Germs, schmerms!" Daisy rolls her eyes, quickly shedding her pyjama bottoms. "Let me thank you, Lancelot. Please. What's the worst that could happen?" she smiles. I sigh, giving in. Maybe she's right, after all - Daisy normally is.

* * *

Two days later, it is I who am confined to the bed with a throbbing headache and runny nose. I have caught Daisy's cold, and now I can confirm that she was not exaggerating. I feel like curling up and dying.

"Morning, baby!" the since-recovered Daisy chirps, skipping into the room, tray in hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Ungh." I reply eloquently.

"Aww!" Daisy coos, pecking me on the forehead and ruffling my hair affectionately. "I made you breakfast! See, it's a smiley face!" she shows me the plate of bacon and eggs enthusiastically. I resist the urge to groan. Daisy has been cooking? The kitchen probably looks like a bomb site. At least she means well. *

"Thank you." I rasp as Daisy carefully cuts off a piece of bacon and pops it into my mouth. She smiles at me, making my head spin. And I realise that it doesn't matter that I'm sick - nothing matters - because Daisy is here, and that's really all I need.

**A/N: I thought I might as well make my comeback here as cheesy as possible ;) Please don't hesitate to make my day and leave me a review! **

**Peace,**

**Ellie :)**


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